


The Dawn of Winter

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I'm Sorry, Muteness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, What-If, i was having a really bad day, post 3x15, start with Bellamy Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-12 23:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7953022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Start with Bellamy Blake"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CLARKE

Ever since she was hurled down to Earth, Clarke has learned some pretty terrible things about the human race in general and herself in particular. It didn't take long to discover that, down here, nobody's innocent; nobody's good or bad. People are trying to survive, scrambling and scurrying about. Grounder culture might be harsh and brutal, but it's a harshness and brutality born out of sheer necessity. A way of coping and going forward without sinking in guilt and despair. 

 

Just like the Ark, the ground had its rules and its structure. 

Unlike the Ark, Earth is not black-and-white, but a myriad of grays. Sometimes Clarke thinks her teachers were doing them kindness when they hid all the shades of the world. Mostly she believes they should've taught them better. 

 

Earth was supposed to be this paradise where everyone could be free and happy, but that was the dream. Reality is hard, gray and soaked in blood. If you’re lucky, you get to choose how and when you go out.

  
Most of the time you’re not lucky.

 

Clarke thought she had done the unthinkable when she pulled the lever in Mount Weather; when she crossed the final line, stepping out of the light and into this oppressing darkness. The unthinkable was letting the people she loved down; sacrificing someone good because there was no other way. Because she couldn't _find_  another way. The unthinkable was knowing in her heart of hearts that she would do it all again. 

 

Clarke knows she'll never be able to wash the blood off. She'll never be able to walk in the light again, innocent and safe. 

 

Earth put a mirror in front of her, has shown her who she really is. Not a good guy, because they don't exist. She's not better than her enemies than Wallace, Cage or Emerson.  

   
It was difficult, but she made her peace with that. Lexa helped to put everything into perspective. Clarke hasn’t forgotten her betrayal at the Mountain, but being with the Commander gave her the opportunity to set the weight off her shoulders and Clarke was so grateful for that tiny respite. From Lexa, she learned about grounder culture, and the Commander was right: she understood much once she saw that other, private part.

 

In this very throne room, she witnessed some of the secret aspects of their culture; experienced a beauty she hadn't seen, heard, smelled or tasted before. She fell a little in love with it. Relaxing for the first time since she landed on Earth. And during all that time, Lexa was there: a rock that helped her move past everything she had done and reconsider everything she had known. 

 

Sometimes Clarke finds herself wishing she could have had time to share all this beauty with her people, to show them all the hidden colors in the bleak gray world they've landed. Jasper would've enjoyed the booze and the music. Monty would've loved the market. Raven would've taught the grounders tech, Miller would've learned so much about strategy. Bellamy would have loved the tales. 

  
But now this throne room seems small and terrible, enemies posted at every door, her plans out the window and chains digging around her throat, her wrists, her waist, her knees, and ankles. The puncture wounds burn, but she can’t really feel them among all the other things that battle for her attention.

  
Clarke knows there’s no way of winning now, yet her mind keeps tricking her. Every noise is Bellamy storming the tower; every flicker of the light is a miracle like Roan's arrow in the woods or Anya coming back for her in the tunnels.

  
Her mother’s face looms over her, so close she can see the tiny golden flecks in her brown irises, the crows feet around her eyes.

 

Clarke tries to concentrate. She can find an out. They killed Roan, but they don’t know about the tunnels, and surely the rest are safe. They _must_ be safe. Bellamy saw them take her away and is regrouping and will find another way. She just needs to get to Ontari, fry the chip in her brain and put the flame in her. Easy.

 

Or it would be easy if she could just think past the horror of her mother's kind eyes as she pulls the scalpel out of her chest.

  
Clarke takes a deep breath, concentrates and pulls _out_. The blonde always could think in the abstract, ignoring her body and her pesky little feelings. On the Ark, that ability wasn't all that necessary, but once she touched the ground, it became her lifeline, the reason why she's been able to take those cold-headed decisions. 

 

 It feels a little like sitting on her own shoulder, apart from the torrent of emotions trying to take her down. From up here, she can think, and thinking is what's going to get them out of this mess. She’ll find a way of playing the shitty cards in her favor, turning the board against A.L.I.E. even though the A.I. has all the pieces and hers are….

  
A.L.I.E’s saying something, with her mother’s voice. Clarke shudders. It’s Abby's med-bay voice: strong and commanding. She registers her words slowly like they have to elbow their way through the haze that’s settled into her brain.

  
“Start with Bellamy Blake.”

  
Clarke can hear herself pleading, can see the tears on her eyes and cheeks, can see the ropes digging into her flesh, but can feel nothing at all, like it’s happening to someone else. She's running out of time, she needs to find...

  
Two unseeing, unfeeling shells puppeteered by the A.I. haul Bellamy into the room. His face drawn and pale, and he knows – just like she does – that they’re not walking away from this one. Still, his shoulders are pushed back, and his head held high. He looks proud and cocky like he did in those first weeks on the ground. He throws a fierce crocked smile at Abby and a kinder one to her and a wink at Jaha for good measure.

  
Bellamy’s hands are tied tightly behind his back. One of the guards aims a brutal kick to his knee, and he falls face first down with a hoarse cry.

  
They tie his legs together.

  
"The passcode, Clarke," says her mother; the shell her mother used to be in.

  
Clarke's brain stops.

  
On the floor, Bellamy shakes his head minutely. She can see him relaxed, his face open and calm. Bellamy is about to die, and he’s perfectly ok with it.

  
Clarke is not.

  
"I don’t have it," Clarke’s mouth spits, and her face gives a ferocious smile.

  
She’s very much not ok with it.

  
A.L.I.E.'s minions stop, everyone looking at her.

  
"Don’t lie to me, Clarke," warns Abby. "You’ll only make this harder for yourself. And him."

  
Clarke manages a scoff.  "How stupid do you think I am? Would I have come here if I were the one with the passcode?"

  
They chew on that for a moment.

  
' _Believe it,_ ' prays Clarke, raising her eyebrows in that way that she knows people find infuriating. ' _Come on, A.L.I.E, believe it_.'

  
Thelonius walks around to Bellamy, whose face has closed up and stares angrily at the chipped. The ex-Chancellor kneels in front of him.

  
"Do you know the passcode?" Thelonious’ voice is calm and kind. Clarke has to repress the urge to gag. How often had he used that same kind voice on her and Wells?

 

"Go float yourself," growls Bellamy spitting into the face of the ex-Chancellor. And Clarke has to bite back a sad smile. How long has he been waiting to do that?

  
Jaha doesn’t seem bothered, he smiles kindly, stepping out of the way so that Bellamy will have an excellent unobstructed view of Abby’s scalpel as it slices neatly into Clarkes’ chest a third time. Bellamy jumps forward with a shout deep and fierce and so full of hatred it takes three chipped to hold him back. 

 

Jaha, Abby, even Ontari smile knowingly. ' _Damn you, Bellamy'_ _and your stupid heart always hanging from your sleeve!_  Thinks Clarke. She can take the torture _,_ and once she was dead, A.L.I.E. wouldn't get her hands on the passcode. Raven and Monty and the rest would figure out a way to take her down...

  
"You shouldn’t lie to me, Clarke," says Abby. She turns her head to Bellamy's angry growling face. "Now look what you've done."

 

Before the blonde can really process the words, a thin rope is pulled tight around Bellamy's throat, dragging him back and up. He shakes and kicks with his tied legs, eyes wide and terrified. 

  
Clarke's consciousness slams back into her body and everything comes rushing back. She's in the Mountain's control center again, watching Cage drilling into her mother. Only this feels worse. This is worse than sending him into the mountain, worse than hearing her mother screaming. This is her better half being killed, and the alternative means she'll destroy all of humanity. Mount Weather was a difficult decision, this is an impossible one.

 

She pulls frantically on the restraints, slicing her wrist open. Somewhere there's an animal screaming in agony, the sound bouncing around the walls of the throne room. It takes her a minute to understand it's her. 

 

"You can still save him," whispers Abby sweetly in her ear holding her head steady against the log she’s tied to, forcing her to watch as Bellamy kicks his legs around, opens an closes his mouth trying to breathe. "You don’t have to kill him, too, Clarke. Just give me the passcode, and we'll let him down."

  
Bellamys’ eyes are bloodshot when they fix on her, he shakes his head minutely, tries to smile, but it turns into a grimace because he’s choking and will die.

  
Clarke gives up, she can’t let this happen, she will just tell them the passcode and be done with it. She thought she could bear it, but can’t and most definitively can’t do it without him.

  
She opens her mouth to say the passcode.

  
But no words come out. Clarke's mouth is open, she was screaming just a second ago, but now she's mute.

 

Please! Please, she’ll tell them! She’ll write it down if she can’t speak! But pull him down!

  
She pulls frantically on her bonds, pleads with her eyes.

  
The chipped just look at her, waiting. They’ve forgotten about the twitching body, but she can’t see anything else. Bellamy's head hangs forward, and it looks like he's sleeping. His body's limp, swinging slowly from side to side. 

  
The door breaks.

  
It’s too late.


	2. OCTAVIA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have saved the world.

They’ve saved the world, but it doesn’t feel like it. Once saved the world is supposed to be beautiful again, instead it seems a little grayer at the edges, the noises too dull to pick apart or too loud to understand. Octavia's body feels heavy and clumsy, her skin doesn’t process things right like she’s wearing several bulky sweaters. Nothing matters in the soft fog that has settled around her. Octavia has a hard time telling the days apart as they run and blend into each other. She doesn’t care either way. Caring is a chore, and she can’t be bothered with duties anymore.

 

Everything is on autopilot.

  
People come into focus and walk back out. Indra is there most of the time. When Abby comes to talk to Octavia, Indra is the one to pull her away with stern words. Octavia doesn’t know what either woman has said and can’t really be bothered to be interested.

 

The convoy that rides back to Arkadia is made mostly of Skaikru, but Indra and a few Trikru go back with them. Octavia sees them load The Body onto one of the carts. It’s covered in a shroud, and it looks spooky and otherworldly. Octavia doesn’t want to be near it, but Clarke is always next to The Body. The small part of her brain that is still awake thinks that it’s oddly fitting: Wanheda’s place is with the dead.

  
Octavia warily watches the gaping hole inside her. It’s there all the time, the only thing she can really think about: how it lurks and growls and threatens to drag her down. The hole isn't new, it first appeared when her mom was floated, and she was put into another small room that felt so strange and alien. She remembers – sort of – all the nights she spent crying for her brother. It got a little bit bigger after Lincoln… But now it is oh so big!

  
The way to Arkadia seems to take forever and no time at all. There are skaikru milling around, confused and adrift. Raven appears out of nowhere, as do Monty, Jasper, and Harper. In the blink of an eye they’re on her, all three of them, asphyxiating her in a crushing hug.

  
Octavia is aware that she should be doing something – crying, maybe. But her body doesn’t feel right.

 

She sees – or thinks she sees - Clarke by the cart with The Body. Wanheda isn’t crying either. What a strange thing that cart is, it has been pulled here all the way from Polis by Miller and Murphy. Octavia doesn’t know what to think about that. They go back to the Dropship with the cart and The Body. Somebody has decided that it has to be done and she follows Indra all the way to her old home.

  
Behind what is left of the wall are the graves of Wells and John Mbege, the two boys that died during the landing – Octavia doesn’t remember the names- and a lot more. She didn’t remember that many: Rows upon rows of dead delinquents. Octavia knows that Bellamy dug the graves himself, pulling the rotting corpses from the battlefield and into the earth. She knows because she knows her brother wouldn't just abandon the people that trust him.

  
Grass grows over all the molds, big stones the only thing marking them, and a couple of shovels abandoned and cradled in young shrubs.

  
This is wrong.

  
Miller and Murphy dig another grave, just at the head of the rows, so that The Body can keep watch over their people like he did before it became The Body.

 

This is wrong.

 

They take The Body from the cart beside Wanheda and lay him at the bottom of the new hole - grave.  

 

This is wrong.

 

Octavia watches everything, and her mind screams at her to stop them.

 

This is wrong. 

This is her fault. It’s her fault because she wished him dead when Pike killed Lincoln. But now she takes it back. She doesn’t want The Body to disappear down a dark hole. She doesn’t want this. She wants him back. She wants to be angry with him and to be happy again; she want’s to listen to his stupid stories – that are not stupid ones. They are not stupid! Come back, you bastard! - She wants him to hug her like he did every day for over sixteen years. She wants…. She wants… She wants her brother back!

  
She’s sorry. She’s sorry for wishing him harm. She didn’t mean it. She didn't mean any of it. She needs him. Doesn’t he see how much she needs him? Who is she without him? Just one half of a set. They were supposed to be together. They were supposed to protect each other. How could she fail so miserably? She promised him she would never let anything happen to him.

  
She’s sorry for…

  
"It’s time to go," whispers Indra next to her.

  
Octavia blinks, and it’s dark already, and everybody has left but for a single form sitting on the other side of the grave, silent, still and cold, like a gravestone.

  
Indra’s hand is warm on her arm, but she can’t leave because Bellamy can’t be dead. He’s playing some sort of sick prank. He’ll come back because the world without him doesn’t make sense. He promised he would never let anything bad happen to her. Well, this is bad, and it’s happening to her! But it can’t because Bellamy doesn’t break his promises.

  
"Come on, Octavia," Indras voice is extremely soft, but it somehow cuts through the haze in her brain, softly prying it away until Octavia’s left bare and the weight of it all just breaks her.

  
"I didn’t mean it," she pretends to whisper, but it comes out as a wail, a screech that no grounder would utter. But she can, because she’s skaikru as is her brother and she needs him.

  
Indra is right there pulling her into a tight hug, rubbing her back in big soothing circles. But it’s like a dam has broken and she can’t stop. Can’t stop apologizing, begging for him to come back.

 

She can’t breathe. "I didn’t mean it."

  
"I know," whispers Indra "Hush, I know, little one," and it sounds like something Bellamy would say and Octavia can’t stop crying and begging.

  
He can’t be dead. He can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

 

When there are no more tears left for her to cry Indra guides her back to Arkadia and puts her to sleep in her tent, just outside the doors of the skaikru city.

  
The next day she stays curled in her blankets until Indra comes and drags her to the mess-hall – which is more like a mess-patio, with a random assortment of miss-matched chairs and repurposed crates and barrels serving as tables and stools.

  
The day is sunnier than it has been since they saved the world just two minutes too late and she automatically looks for Bellamy to teas him about the content smile he’ll be wearing and the way he tilts his head up to soak as much sun as possible.

 

It takes her a moment to remember that he’s not there - will never be there – and her eyes fill with tears again.

  
Indra has left her at a table and gone – probably to fetch food and greet Kane, not that she’s hungry or cares. Octavia plops down on the closest chair, looking down at her hands. She has her mothers’ hands. He always had strong, broad hands that looked nothing like hers. She feels like she’s drowning.

 

Jasper is the first one to appear next to her, falling gracelessly opposite her.

 

"Two weeks sober and my leg is killing me," he tells her like she asked. Like she cares. "You?"

  
She doesn’t know what to answer, but he patiently pushes around his food until Octavia’s mouth remembers how to open, how to spill words: "I feel like shit."

  
Jasper looks at her. His hair is longer, his eyes a little brighter, there are shadows under them.

 

"It gets better," he promises before taking a drink of his mettle cup and grimaces "Unlike the water in this place, which keeps getting worse."

  
She gives a startled laugh and feels terribly guilty about it. Her eyes fill, the void in her bites harshly at her.

 

Jasper’s own smile is sad around the edges, but in there, something reminds her of the goofy googled boy from the Dropship. His hand is incredibly bony on hers, fingers pale and long and thin like spider legs. It doesn’t look or feel anything like Bellamy’s. "Just… Don’t push us away, ok?"

  
She nods warily. She’s adrift.

 

This is the third time she’s lost her family, and she’s not sure she’ll be able to get back up now that she has no one left and nowhere to go. She thinks she understands now how Lincoln felt after being made into a reaper and back into a man. How he felt about being banished from Trikru. She wishes she hadn’t been so harsh with him. “ _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodataim_ ,” she had told him. But how?

  
Monty and Harper come over with plates and after a while, even Miller and Bryan join them.

 

Some days are better than others, but Jasper’s right. It does get easier knowing that she’s not entirely alone. She may have lost her family, but she still has Indra and the delinquents, duties, and things to keep her occupied. She still turns to Bellamy, still searches for him for a few moments every day, still misses Lincoln every night, but the pain is more bearable.

  
“ _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodataim._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo yeah... unbetad  
> Thanks for reading.


	3. RAVEN

This world is just fucked up and she’s sick of it. So sick, she sometimes misses the chip and the calm that came with it: no pain, no morals, no loneliness.

  
Raven’s not naïve enough to believe in ‘good’ and ‘bad' guys, has never thought that there was some sort of cosmic justice in place and, since landing on the ground, what little faith she might have had on the fairness of life has completely dissipated. So she keeps going, keeps limping around camp and fixing stuff because that’s what she has to do.

  
Arkadia has grown in the last few weeks. Huts sprouting out of the ground like mushrooms, Trikru grounders moving in when no one was looking, Azgeda carts coming and going thanks to the trade agreements King Roan and Skaikru have set up. The world keeps turning and life keeps going. Raven sees Octavia teaching some kids how to fight and has to swallow back the sudden twist in her chest because she looks so much like her brother.

  
The truth is she misses Bellamy, can’t really believe he’s gone. How can he be gone when there’s so much to be done, so many delinquents still looking for guidance, so many posts to cover, and so much Earth to discover? Who’s going to be the first to ride the new jeep she’s fixed up? Who will teach ancient myths to the new generation of skaikru? 

  
Raven won’t admit it to anyone, but there was a very small part of her that thought he was immortal. Rightfully so. Bellamy had been made to roam the forests and shout orders and be her friend. He burned so brightly and smiled so recklessly, risking his life at every turn with a gun and a sarcastic comeback. Always managing to swing back. Fearless Leader, immortal King. It’s wrong that he’s dead.

 

It’s selfish and Bellamy had many faults but selfishness was never one of them.

 

Raven climbs up to one of the fixtures and starts checking the connections there. The lights in the med-bay have been shortcutting the whole sector for two days now and nobody seems to be able to find the fluke. See, Bellamy? She doesn’t go around dying because she isn't a slacker and has a job to do.

  
Clarke enters the med-bay, arms full of new bandages. She doesn’t seem to notice that most of the lights are off, just moves up to the cabinets on the far side and starts refolding every one of the bandages with mindless efficiency before stacking them inside the cabinet. And here’s another reason why it’s wrong that Bellamy is dead.

 

"Hey, Clarke!" the blond jumps a little and turns to look up at her.

  
Her eyes are not bloodshot and puffy anymore. But the rings beneath them creep down her cheeks and look dark purple, like bruises. She’s been picking at the scabs around her wrists again, Raven can tell. The wounds should have healed by now, but thanks to her constantly picking at them they’re infected – again.

  
"Pass the screwdriver?" she points at the box of tools on a table near her ladder. She could get it herself, but she likes climbing ladders as much as a knife to the kidney.

  
Clarke moves over and passes the screwdriver.

 

"How are you?" asks Raven. They should talk more. Clarke smiles and shrugs before holding her thumbs up. "Yeah, right." Clarke points at her with a hand. "Oh! I’m ok. Just trying to fix this thing, so that the med-bay can work again." Clarke points at Raven’s hip. "I can’t complain," she winks down at the blonde, "since you give me all the drugs I want."

  
Clarke smiles and for a precious second, she seems a little bit like her old self. Then her eyes slide to the left and she stiffens, swallows and flees without a sound.

  
Raven doesn’t need to look to know Abby’s standing at the door.

  
She’s not properly equipped to help neither mother nor daughter.

 

"Has she said something?"

  
Raven does not look at Abby, but shakes her head no.

  
Weeks have passed since they laid Bellamy in his grave and Clarke hasn’t spoken a word since before that. Before they came back from Polis. Something happened there that rendered her completely mute. Raven knows –as does everyone else – that Clarke Griffin won’t speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this hasn't been betad  
> Thanks for reading


	4. MILLER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's just so angry

Miller wants this whole nightmare to be over.

  
He gives up the guard. He’s better suited to work in the fields anyway. Arkadia has fields now. He can spend time with Monty and other delinquents that have found their way into the giant wheat fields to the east of Arkadia.

 

Bryan’s still on the guard and something about it makes Miller so angry. None of the delinquents are, not after Bellamy… Not after the whole A.L.I.E. Incident. They’re calling it an “ _incident_ ”, which makes him angry, too. That Bryan’s still on the guard feels like some sort of betrayal. Which Miller knows is ridiculous, but still. It feels like there’s a chasm between the delinquents and everyone else. Bryan staying in the guard is just a way of staying on the wrong side of that chasm.

  
Life goes on, of course.

  
Octavia is doing better, as is Jasper.

 

It’s Jasper’s idea to gather and tell stories of those who died. They’ve lost so many friends.

 

So they get together once a week and speak of their dead and get wasted on Monty and Jaspers moonshine. Harper even makes a small logo for the tin where they cook it up.

 

Raven comes only once every few weeks. Octavia hangs with her grounder friends and doesn’t appear all that often. She speaks of Lincoln only once: throwing her shoulders back and looking defiantly around the room even when there are tears hanging on her eyelashes like she's daring anyone to fight her, to tell her Lincoln wasn't Skakikru and doesn't deserve to be remembered by them. Nobody does. All of the delinquents have something nice to say about him. 

 

Clarke comes every time, sits in a corner and never drinks.

 

Miller thinks she’s punishing herself or something. He tries to talk to her, but it’s difficult if she won’t answer with words. Sometimes whoever is speaking will turn to her as if asking “is this ok?” “Can I speak of this?” Clarke always plasters that soft edged smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

 

When she thinks no one’s looking she curls in on herself rubbing at the small scars on her chest. The wounds around her wrists haven’t healed yet because she keeps picking at the scabs. Miller doesn’t know how to help her. That makes him angry, too. Bellamy would know.

  
There’s just too much anger in his life and so little places where he can put it.

  
He leaves Bryan on a Wednesday. Next Thursday Harper and Monty take him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting.


	5. Murphy

Murphy doesn’t know why they follow the Skaikru back to Arkadia, why he keeps being roped into the most distasteful tasks or why he bothers anymore. He and Emori could leave at any time, but, somehow, it feels sort-of safe being surrounded by the only bunch that hasn’t tortured him – much.

  
They keep their distance from most of the Skaikru people as their sort through their own mess together. He still wakes up thinking he’s laying in Ontari’s bed. He sometimes looks at Emori and wonders if the chip is really gone. His hands seem to be constantly covered in black blood he can’t wash off.

  
Yet, even though he’s not sure he can trust anyone, having Emori there is helpful. She listens to him, tries to help – even though sometimes it’s unbearable even looking at her. She doesn’t seem to care that he was Ontari’s concubine – but that’s one of those things he can’t really be sure of, can he?

  
He wishes he could turn to Bellamy and tell him he understands him a little better now. But he’s not here, so he turns to Clarke instead. He sometimes talks to her when there’s no one else around. It’s easy talking to her because she won’t try and answer with something sympathetic.

 

He doesn’t want sympathy, he wants to be listened to.

  
He tells her that he’s sorry for what he did. He tells her about the Lighthouse house arrest, he tells her he’s glad he didn't hang the King; that would have been a mistake he wouldn’t have been able to live down - Clarke cries on his shoulder for an hour after that, but it’s ok. He tells her that he wishes he would have been better at decision making when they first came down. How many people would still be alive if it weren’t for his mistakes? How many of them would have been people that mattered?

  
As some sort of punishment, she forces him to sit every week in Jasper's remembrance group and listen to everyone talk about the people they’ve lost. He tags along next to Clarke every week. They sit in the back and try to fight down the guilt. At some point, he stands up and speaks about the people that left with him and Jaha in search of the City of Light. It’s surprising that people listen to him. He was expecting them to throw him out of the room as soon as he opened his mouth.

 

Clarke smiles at him from where she’s sitting hunched over and pale-faced.

 

Later that day when he lays down next to Emori, he manages a full-nights-sleep without nightmares.

 

Murphy turns into a glorified nurse in the med-bay. He has his reasons to do so: for starters, it means easy access to everything he might need to steal if they – Emori and him – ever find themselves in a situation where they need to flee Arkadia. It also comes with constant and free lessons on medicine – which is a must in this hellhole of a planet. And it has the added bonus of being able to spend time with the only friend he’s made since returning to Arkadia. He tells himself he’s not keeping an eye on her – since he really doesn’t care all that much about the princess. It’s more of a way of ensuring his and Emori’s safety. Be on the princess’s good graces and nobody can touch you, right?

 

Abby Griffin spends as little time in the med-bay as possible and Clarke has turned it into her turf. Their safe-place. She teaches him to work with plants and patients, how to stitch someone up and to check for poison. It’s very didactic and sort of repugnant.

 

After spending so much time with Clarke, he’s starting to understand her silences better than most, can feel the shift in her moods and knows enough to crack a joke or just leave her alone when she needs it. She does the same for him – not the cracking a joke part because she’s a mute now, but she knows when to rub his back reassuringly to drag him out of a flashback and when to leave him the fuck alone, which usually is never. He hates being alone with a passion.

  
They’re organizing plants in their usual companionable silence; he’s lost in the menial task of separating roots and leaves and he doesn't notice the shift right away, the way her hands still and her face twists. Her eyes are fixed on the jacket some idiot has forgotten on one of the cots.

 

It takes him twenty minutes to calm her down and she spends the rest of the day absently rubbing at the scars on her chest.

  
These episodes have been happening more and more often. People expect them to heal already, they either tiptoe around them or bang around trying to force them to get over it. Instead of getting better Murphy knows many are only getting worse. Living in close quarters with those who’ve betrayed you, who just turned around and forced you into something, who stabbed or tortured you can be extremely difficult. He speaks with Emori about it, and together they sneak Clarke out of Arkadia and into the forest.

  
It takes them three days to build a small cabin a few miles away from Arkadia – close enough that she can come back whenever she wants, but far away enough that she can be truly alone.

 

She smiles – truly smiles for the first time in months.

 

That night Murphy curls around Emori, thinking he’s finally made good by his leaders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this was unbetaed. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo... yeah, the thing was unbetad. Thanks for reading.


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